


Loup de mer

by allollipoppins



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Body Horror, Calypso Katsuki Yuuri, Civilian Katsuki Yuuri, Dark Victor Nikiforov, Davy Jones Victor Nikiforov, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Fairy Tale Elements, Inspired by Lovecraft, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, M/M, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Morally Ambiguous Katsuki Yuuri, POV Third Person Limited, Rated For Violence, Shapeshifting, Tattooed Victor Nikiforov, Tentacles, Teratophilia/Xenophilia in future chapters if you squint, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allollipoppins/pseuds/allollipoppins
Summary: /lu d(ə) mɛʁ/: French - Sea bass || Sea dogCalypso and Davy Jones: A Modern Fairy Tale





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I remember a time when I told myself I'd never write a mafia AU because it felt too complex for me to write and I didn't have the guts to...  
> Turns out I'm a big fat liar.  
> Better yet, I have no ambition of writing something magnificent. The mafia part of this three-shot is more of an excuse to put context to my take on a Calypso and Davy Jones AU, and while research was involved I don't have the pretention of giving you something elaborate of the matter. For that part, I can assure you that there are far better authors than me in this fandom with fantastic works dedicated to the theme :) Like many of my works it is overly self-indulgent.  
> I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I mean for it not to be long - in part because it is from an external pov, and because your poppy has finals weeks coming soon. It will go fast, as I plan for it to be in three chapters with most of the main action and gore happening in the last one.  
> On a side note: I've reached 21 works muthahuggers!!! *sends confetti everywhere*  
> Unbeta'ed work as per usual. I own neither YoI nor PotC.

In spite of the years of recession that had worn out the small sea-town of Hasetsu, the onsen of Yutopia Katsuki stands tall. The last hot springs of the region, and the most frequented in consequence, is only the last one standing thanks to the combined efforts of its residents and regulars, and to the fruitful partnership its owners have formed with the Yakuza. A relationship that had spanned generations and would touch the ones to come, unless the Katsukis should want to rethink their connections. There hadn’t been room for such a thought, almost a decade before. That, of course, was years before today.

 

* * *

 

They know to find Victor Nikiforov there or by the docks when he has both feet on the ground. But off of it, the sea is his territory.

He always travels on the same boat. The Kasatka bears its teeth as it advances at a dangerous pace towards them, its sleek body cutting through the waves and parting them in its wake, black hull glistening with sea water, not unlike the orca that gave the boat her name.

Minami is sent to wait on him whenever the leader of the Bratva comes in town, aware of the procedure ever since he had joined the Yakuza snot so long ago. That was when their troubles with Nikiforov had first started and, naïve as they were in thinking such a young man would never be able to surpass the previous Pakhan, they had underestimated him. The extent of their mistake wouldn’t come to them until long after he had entered their land.

Dusk falls and the ships follow, a black wave closing onto them. An entire fleet appears in the horizon, the shadow of a storm blending with the sea as it loses most of its colour, no longer reflecting the clouds and dying sun that fade into the distance. Masts reach for the skies, and from where Minami stands he can see the figure of Victor Nikiforov at the front of the central ship. Tall and still, steady hands on the board, a king reigning over an endless kingdom.

The young Japanese never tired of seeing this display, while conscious of the fear it always conjured in him, strongly convinced as he was that the ships would crash into them any minute from now as they approached. Vessels, and particularly the ones Nikiforov had under his command, were a sight to behold, and a legend through the mafia world. They had been deemed a nuisance and a waste of time, for planes were much faster and efficient than ships, harder to intercept.

And yet Nikiforov and his crew always came without fault, his own personal army roaming the seas in less time than it took for a jet to make the trip from Saint Petersburg to Tokyo. Watercraft, especially ones transporting cargo, shouldn’t have been able to go this quickly on water, and yet there they were. Smuggling everything and anything – fish, drugs, men packed like animals behind bars, it didn’t make the slightest difference as long as it came on board and left unscathed.

The Pakhan’s efficiency is one of the few reasons why he is even allowed on foreign territory in the first place. Unlike other superiors, he had expressed a very clear preference in dealing with people by himself and first-hand, getting his hands dirty on the job. Rumour had it that he was the best thing the Solntsevskaya Bratva had had to offer the Chinese Triad, trading him in exchange for shared control over the eastern seas. He knew the waters better than anyone else, well-educated in both inner and outer passageways, where open canals led, which lakes were closer to dams, and how to bypass them. Minami had also heard from mouth-to-ear that his career had begun this way, as an assassin who had been very particular about the disposal of his corpses, before he was eventually promoted to his current position.

He allows himself to sigh once the Russians board, as the ladder goes down onto the cement and Victor Nikiforov climbs out first, followed by his bodyguards. Only two of them, the rest staying on the ship. He liked to travel light.

“Minami-san,” Victor Nikiforov states politely once he gets both feet on the docks, a small smile on his face – the product of habits, and professional confidence. The older man bows, more gracefully and deeply than he had the first time, folding his tall body in half before rising to meet Minami’s eyes. He has to lift his head a little to meet his gaze. His hand blindly reaches for the Pakhan’s own, feeling it through leather gloves.

The Pakhan is dressed as impeccably as ever, all in black. His long overcoat protects him from the evening chill, the wind going a little stronger as night closes in. The Russian doesn’t shiver once in spite of the few layers he has on, while Minami has to suppress the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He hasn’t been discreet enough though, if Nikiforov’s slight smirk is any indication. Though the sky progressively gets darker, the circles under his eyes remain visible against the paleness of his skin. He must be as weary after his trip as Minami is after his long day. He wouldn’t blame him either for wanting to hurry to the safety and comfort of Yutopia Katsuki.

“Shall we?” the Pakhan nods in the direction of their cars and the rest of the kobun, awaiting them a respectable distance away. Minami nods, guiding him and his henchmen out of the port. He knows exactly where to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odyssey xi: Lest for my daring Persephone the dread / From Hades should send up an awful monster's grisly head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things to do while studying for your finals: not study and write instead.  
> (It's not so much that I need to revise since my finals are based on knowledge of languages ad the ability to translate so there isn't much to study in the first place, but I just can't motivate myself to write these two essays I have to hand in in less than a week, esp since one of them is a group work and it seems like my coworker isn't doing much - as expected in group work. I'm handling it I swear, but the incoming stress had to be relieved and here I am. Relieving stress).

The saying goes that the measure of man is in the way he treats both his subordinates and his superiors, and the way he treats his wife. And the oyabun was not happy at all with Victor Nikiforov.

There were thousands of reasons not to trust the head of the Bratva, all as varying in degrees of importance as they were numerous.

The first being his astounding lack of respect towards their hierarchy. While the head of the Bratva had conducted his affairs on their territory with explicit permission, and graciously returned his thanks in the form of gifts – most being crates of their best spirits, weaponry and human goods – he had never accepted to pay them any service beyond that of economic exchanges. The oyabun, a distant relative of the Katsukis and one of the elders, had considered many times the idea of including Nikiforov as a part-time member of the organization, and had come as far as offering a binding between their systems. It wasn’t exactly like a sakazuki or a kyoudaisakazuki ceremony, something to celebrate over twin cups of saké and a handshake, but it was close enough. An official way of formalizing the new contract between the Bratva and the Yakuza, declare both the Pakhan and the Oyabun to be equals, of the same standing as brothers if not business partners.

It would, and that went unsaid, bind Nikiforov’s reliability as an assassin and his loyalty as a servant to the Japanese, destitute him of his quality as leader of the Russian underground forces. Essentially, make him the Yakuza’s toy to use, for lack of a more polite word. No one had dared to use the word “hachiko” or “mesu” in his presence, of course. Even when surreptitious, “bitch” remained an insult as unmistakable as “suka” was in the Pakhan’s native language. And the phonetic similarity between the three words didn’t go amiss, both for the man himself and for the canine that sometimes followed him during his travels, never far behind, acting as the bodyguard they all knew he didn’t need. While the caramel poodle trotting by his side looked quite innocent, it had learned – as they had, in the way only experience can provide – that certain sounds were sure to trigger her. Her master knew enough to get by, and had made sure to teach those basics to his precious friend. Victor Nikiforov hadn’t brought her with him this time; Minami wasn’t sure whether to be glad or worried.

In exchange for the Russian’s services, the oyabun had offered Mari Katsuki’s hand in marriage, or any bride of his choice as long as she should be one of theirs. Victor Nikiforov could have chosen even the lowest of their whores and the leaders would have been satisfied. Of course, if he were to marry the ane-san of the Yakuza who made people tremble before her, the feared heiress to one of the greatest criminal empires of the Eastern World, it would provide a more consequent advantage for both parties, enabling the oyabun to assert his full authority on the young and inexpert Pakhan, and providing the latter with the assurance that he would still have authority in the mob, though indirect and more absent.

The oyabun had had it all planned, presenting the offer on a platter the same evening he and Nikiforov dined within the peaceful, deserted living room of Yutopia Katsuki. His hosts had provided him with their best meals, as per usual. Despite Nikiforov’s knowledge in the local specialities he had let himself be convinced to eat fish, relishing the soft, pink flesh at a deliberately unhurried pace which the leader didn’t match. It fell on him the way the harshest of insults would, especially when he realized how much Nikiforov was actually enjoying his meal.

That was when he had noticed the golden ring on Victor Nikiforov’s right hand, and not on the left, as married men of his country usually wore them. It had taken him very little time for the detail to click. A great many words could have been used to convey the oyabun’s expression in this moment. Anger were the master words, for this unexpected change had countervailed their plans, but not only. Shock was painted all over the Japanese leader’s face on that day, thrown off guard as he was.

After all, what kind of person could possibly marry a monster?

 

* * *

 

They don’t trust Nikiforov because none has ever seen hide nor hair of his wife. The rules are simple when it comes to the wives: never look at your friend’s wife, and never show her disrespect of any kind unless you should have a death wish.

No such thing had ever occurred during Victor Nikiforov’s long stays in Japan, and none of the Hasetsu home-makers could attest to having seen anyone being intimate with the Pakhan while he sojourned in Yutopia Katsuki.

In the face of such an unforeseen development, many had thought that the oyabun would’ve had no other choice but to retract his offer. And yet he did no such thing. Anyone of his close acquaintance was well aware that he remained persistent in his will to join both their mafias. The proposition of marriage stayed on the table, and it wouldn’t be taken away anytime soon, but Nikiforov didn’t budge. Even the shateigashira of Hasetsu, the oyabun’s closest link to the village, could do nothing to convince him to annul his marriage, or at the very least to take another woman and break all ties to his country. The other person of interest, Mari Katsuki, had little say in the matter, though she looked quite unsurprised by Victor Nikiforov’s refusal. If anything, she was very satisfied by his decision.

The odds of him being married to Mari Katsuki had been extremely low from the start. While the two have settled into a companionship of sorts, often found smoking together on the balcony, they have never been very close either. And given the fact that she didn’t wear any ring on her finger, it wouldn’t make sense for her to be his wife, at the very least legally speaking. And yet he always wore that ring on his finger, which he didn’t have on his person prior to coming, the piece of jewelry having gone along with him on his next trip abroad on a mission for the Yakuza. Minami had asked her brother, Yuuri, how Mari felt about the possibility of such a union. He had simply laughed, hiding the dying chuckle behind his palm, corners of his lips curving in a smile Minami couldn’t find the meaning of. He hadn’t dared to ask, afraid of the answer.

Out of all the Katsukis Victor Nikiforov probably saw Yuuri, the youngest, far more often than anyone else in the family, the latter having been assigned to him as his personal manservant and handmaiden of sorts upon his arrival. Neither spoke much about the other, and were in truth hardly ever seen together, but from what Minami had gathered Victor seemed to hold great respect for the Katsuki son, a feeling which Yuuri shared as he had never once heard the young man not praising the Pakhan. This… companionship, for lack of a better word wasn’t wholly relevant to him, but for others the mere fact that Yuuri should be the only person trusted with Nikiforov’s welfare spoke volumes.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone that the most obvious cause of their distrust should be that he was not one of them. People around had never taken well to the inclusion of gaijin in their ranks, should he even be distant family or a friend. It is bad enough that the head of the Yakuza should want to be chummy with the Pakhan. So to have a gaijin be so close to the member of one of the most eminent yakuza families, especially one with all fingers of his hands not missing a single bone was cause for conflict.

The brothers and cousins talk a lot during evening soaks in the onsen, without Nikiforov or any of the Katsukis in sight. The family knows to stay away from business that isn’t theirs, and the Pakhan would never consider joining the oyabun’s men in the hot springs. They talk of many things, whispering over shared cups of saké, finding reasons old and new to question the Pakhan’s authority and legitimacy.

His very appearance is at once a great source of confusion for the men, finding him to be as repulsive as he was handsome. The Pakhan looked like a nymph or a siren with his long, flowing hair light as sea foam and skin coarse as sand, eyes the colour of the water and skin like the underbelly of a shark, a sickly pale and milky white that seemed nearly translucent, emphasizing the blue of veins bulging from under cuffs and above collars, the slight flush that spread on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose under the cool morning air. When he speaks his voice comes out in husky tones, a cutting rasp both low and soothing, yet rough and gruff as he speaks accented Japanese, sometimes stingy as salt water.

Victor Nikiforov is many things. But a man, he is not. How could he possibly be?

“Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have a cock as big as the rest of him,” some say to lighten the mood, to which one answers “Are you sure he has one in the first place?”, prompting the laughter of all men present. “Do you think that if we cut his hair he will lose all of his strength, like Samson?” another asks, tentative and afraid of rebuke. Many snort, of course, but the cheer dies on it, the silence communicating their thoughts without the need to vocalize them. None would be surprised if Victor Nikiforov were a god. Minami goes on to sleep on it, dreaming of Victor Nikiforov unleashing hell on all of mankind, his boats invading the lands and the untamed waves of the ocean washing through the island, wiping out everything in their wake.

 

* * *

 

It occurs to Minami one evening that he has never once, in almost ten years of knowing Victor Nikiforov, seen him drink.

To his limited knowledge, the Pakhan's men have never seen him drink either. Not a drop of water, or a swig of vodka from the bottle, just as they’ve never seen his bare arms and back. It's quite the irony given how he spends most of his life surrounded by water, and his blood is the signature of a nation known to hold its alcohol more than well.

It’s a – revelation? There is nothing remotely striking about an observation such as this. Maybe it’s just some strange kind of foreign, Russian custom he had never heard of in other circles. Hierarchy is most likely to dictate who should have the honour of seeing their master go by in his daily life, that did happen under Louis XIV in France a long time ago. In any case, it remains a fact that has no relevance whatsoever to their time and affairs. Besides he doesn’t _know_ Victor Nikiforov well enough of course, not on a personal enough basis to even have permission to call him by his last name alone.

He files it under distant memory he shall forget later on, the small anecdotes he shall tell his future children and grandchildren (if he has them one day) should they ask for a story one day. Of the man who came from the Northern seas and who wouldn’t survive the next winter before he had to be brought down.

The oyabun, Minami tells Yuuri one night as they share green tea together, is getting increasingly impatient with Victor. Not only was he “making himself be desired” by the oyabun and his men, but he had utterly humiliated the leader by not informing him on his affairs and persisting on going against his words.

“He’s tempting the Gods,” Minami – Kengirou-kun, as he insists on being called in Yuuri’s presence – mutters against the rim of his cup. “Does he think himself superior to them?”

Yuuri sighs while pouring his own, the liquid seeping into the cup with a delicacy that never fails to surprise him. “The oyabun is not a god, Kengirou-kun, and neither is Nikiforov. He may have power over all of us but he can’t command a man of his own standing, especially one as important as the Pakhan.”

“He should be worried though. This has been going on for a while now, and if he doesn’t act soon our brothers will have him skinned.”

Minami almost jumped when Yuuri starts chuckling. The sound itself is low, like a hum that chimes and echoes on the porcelain but it rings through the quiet room in a way that fills it entirely, the way a whistle does when blown.

“Silly. Even if he were of a godly nature, men don't strike fear in the heart of gods. And if they did, they wouldn’t last long.”

Silence settles for a while between them as Yuuri sips his tea, and Minami watches as the warm liquid brings colour to his cheeks and fog on his glasses, blurring his vision of the youngest. The skin of his throat raises slightly as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing to the rhythm of the water trickling. A single drop escapes the cup and trails down his exposed skin, forcing Minami to look away as it follows its course underneath his “brother’s” clothes. Surrounded by these scented fumes Yuuri appears all the wiser than he already is, and all the more beautiful.

“You fancy him to be a monster, don’t you? Why is that?”

Minami shrugs. “I can’t say. The rumours, I suppose, but I don’t think he has a heart.”

Yuuri frowns over the blue frames of his glasses. “Why do you say that? It’s not like you.”

“You’ve seen him, Yuuri-san. Hell you know him better than I do. Do you really believe him to be married, of all people? And even if he were, I doubt his wife would be happy with him. Or at the very least, it would be only fair that she should be a monster too.”

The hand Yuuri slaps on his mouth practically throws him back, hitting him with the force of a punch. Yuuri looks half panicked for a split second.

“Quiet!” he whispers harshly, then turns his head from side to side frantically, Minami’s eyes following him as he does do, before Yuuri breathes again and removes his hand from Minami’s mouth. His skin still burns form the heat of Yuuri’s palm. “You’re lucky there’s no one around, otherwise You would have your tongue slit out of your mouth in a matter of seconds. That’s a very harsh judgement to bestow on someone you don’t know. Especially a superior, Minami. I’m disappointed.” It shows, in the way Yuuri keeps his face carefully composed though a slight frown subsides, the corners of his mouth pinched and his tone cold and dry.

“Apologies,” Minami murmurs, head bent low in shame and cheeks flaming. He finds himself praying, hoping that his words won’t reach Nikiforov anytime soon – the man hears and knows everything that is said in the house. But he knows that Yuuri is too good to tell on him.

“She… his spouse married him of their own accord. I can assure you of that.”

Minami blinks, startled by the change of subject. “He told you then?” he whispers.

Yuuri shrugs. “You could say that. More precisely, he gave me food for thought.”

“How so?” the words escape him before he can stop himself, and promptly slaps his hand over his mouth as soon as they do.

Yuuri doesn’t seem the least bothered or deterred though, fixing on him a stare that catches his whole attention, unreadable but captivating.

“Have you ever heard of the Leviathan? The great sea monster defeated by God in the Bible. The Torah also has passages on it if I remember well. How did it go again? Oh! Yes. _“And on that day were two monsters parted, a female monster named Leviathan, to dwell in the abysses of the ocean over the fountains of the waters. But the male is named Behemoth, who occupied with his breast a waste wilderness named Duidain.”_ ”

“And then there was something in the Genesis. Something like… _“The great fish in the sea, and its mate, for He created them male and female, and He slew the female and salted her away for the righteous in the future, for if they would propagate, the world could not exist because of them.”_ ”

“How do you know all this, and why are you telling it to me?” Minami asked, having a feeling about the matter but not daring to read into it.

“Because he told me,” Yuuri answered, pouring them both another cup of tea. “His grandmother was Polish, so he grew up having some notions of the Torah. And I’m telling you this because… I feel that this is relevant, in some way, to his relationship with his other half. And because I wish for you to understand what it entails. You’re smart, Kengirou-kun. You’ll figure it out for yourself, one day or another, but I’d rather it be sooner than later.” Yuuri finishes before taking their tray back to the kitchen, leaving Minami with more questions than answers. Though most of them feel like an evidence.

 

What could possibly make a man like Victor Nikiforov marry?

 

(The answer is quite easy really.

Love.

~~Love for another monster.~~

What else is there to say to it?)

 

* * *

 

Minami isn’t the least surprised when Nikiforov announces the very next day that he would perform the binding ceremony with the oyabun. It doesn’t ease the bad feeling growing in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the fishy goodness is coming next chapter, don't you worry about it ;) Warning you guys already for graphic violence and gore.  
> Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated :) I'm @allollipoppins on tumblr & @AriL10N355 on twitter. Hmu!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated :)  
> I'm @allollipoppins on tumblr & @AriL10N355 on twitter, hmu!


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